Cry with me, Mother, and let our teardrops turn to rock. You can strike me until I shatter into a million pieces: I will become the sands

I see the forests worshipped in their tall grandeur shading families from the scorching sun... From Colombia to Lenapehoking, this is Home 

If words are your only vessel, then I am beached. For I live in a wealth of intuition, of which the world has become impoverished

We sing until we choke on the ashes of bleeding forests, we run until our lungs are filled with soot and our hearts sink into the depths...

Born of angels not a mother, not a father raised by love incarnate in a vivid world without color where the harsh contrasts of white on...